It was probably a mistake to watch Spike Lee’s 1986 film She’s Gotta Have It right before diving into the pilot episode of his Netflix television series adaptation. All I can see is the many ways the series isn’t the movie, no matter how much I like it. That’s the thing about adapting a classic — even your own: the original ends up being the standard rather than a guide, and so if this recap ends up reading more like a spot the difference exercise in out of a Highlights For Children magazine, my sincerest apologies in advance.

So much of the film version of She’s Gotta Have It’s magic was in its feel. It wasn’t a perfect movie, but that was what was so charming. It was unvarnished, bohemian. It was jazzy, it was easy. It was honest. And cliché fake deep artsy as it sounds, the black and white lens made every character — Nola, Jamie, Mars, Greer, the borough of Brooklyn — feel real. That feel is missing from the pilot. Somehow, the updated version of Nola Darling’s story feels less fresh. It’s too modern. Too polished. Too with it. I could be making too much of Lee’s choice to shoot the show in color, but color makes Nola and co feel less raw. Everything about this pilot feels worked. The characters’ names appear as hashtags at the bottom of the screen instead of the simple white type font we saw in 1986. And Nola’s apartment is too neat. Jamie is too intense. Greer is too much of a WWE type character. The New York slang feels awkward in the actors’ mouths. Everything and everyone feels too much like they’re trying.

Photo: Netflix

That worked feeling may very well be a deliberate choice on Lee’s part? Maybe this is how he wants us to confront us with what and who Brooklyn is now. The Brooklyn of today hardly resembles that of 1986. As a native, I’ve seen Brooklyn lose so much culture to gentrification, and still it was very jarring to jump from watching 1986’s Jamie and Nola follow one another through the very black Fulton Mall to seeing millennial Nola and her friends being served by a bearded white waiter at her birthday get together. There was a white woman sitting amongst the group of friends at the table of friends, too. I can admit the discomfort the worked feeling might be embarrassment or shame I feel at letting Brooklyn change so much without anything to stop it. I don’t exactly remember if there were any white people in the Lee’s original film. But I can be sure that the series won’t let me forget.

Much of the Netflix pilot’s story is the same as the film. It opens with Nola Darling (DeWanda Wise), a free spirited, sexually liberated artist living in Brooklyn, monologuing to the audience about her truth. She wants us to know that despite what anyone may tell you about her, there’s nothing wrong with being promiscuous. But she’s really adamant that you do not call her a “freak.” She hates that label. In fact, she rejects all labels, but she rejects that one the most. (To be honest, I don’t quite get why she hates the term “freak” so much. I’ve always understood the slang term to simply mean a woman who loves sex, but not in a slut-shamey way.)

Photo: Netflix

Nola’s story is told, in part, from the perspective of her three current lovers: Jamie Overstreet (Lyriq Bent), a too serious, investment banker who writes cringeworthy love poems and wants Nola to belong only to him; Mars Blackmon (Anthony Ramos), a wacky if immature neighborhood guy that loves that Nola is a “freak”; and Greer Childs (Cleo Anthony), a cartoonishly narcissistic male model with whom Nola engages in some interesting mating rituals.

The episode covers the days before and after Nola’s birthday. She sleeps with and then fights with Jamie, who doesn’t understand why Nola refuses to commit to him despite his own extra partners. She has kinky sex with Greer whose belief that he is the best thing to happen to Nola is shattered when he sees the unflattering portrait of his ugly inner beast she paints of him. Later, Greer, too egotistical to bear the thought of Nola desiring other men, hypocritically suggests she has a sex addiction. Nola has a fun smoke and sex session with Mars, and finds time for a birthday brunch with friends, and a one on one girls hangout with former roommate and close friend, Clorinda Bradford (Margot Bingham).

The highlight of the pilot might be Mars and Nola’s romp. I quite like Mars, actually. Anthony Ramos’s Mars has a charming impishness that reminds me of John Leguizamo, and an anachronistic wardrobe that is the only thing in the episode that truly feels like it came out of Brooklyn. Mars is funny, Mars is weird, and silly and delightful. And I like Nola when she is with him. It is the only time during the pilot she feels fully at ease. So at ease, Spike Lee lets Mars be the listening ear Nola monologues her gripes — but really Spike’s gripes — with the Academy Awards snubs of Denzel Washington and Al Pacino to.

Photo: Netflix

The pilot takes a major turning point when Nola is assaulted by an aggressive catcaller on her walk home from a pot smoking hang at Clorinda’s place. She manages to fight him off, but not before he angry calls her a “Black Bitch.” The pain of this incident moves Nola to try to reclaim her power, and refuse to let men tell her who she is. So, she posters her neighborhood with anti-harassment street art that declares that she is not and of the names street harassers often use on women. She’s going to be the one who tells us who she is: Nola Darling. And, in case we forgot, she reminds us that Black Lives – her black life —Matters.

Rae Sanni is a comedian and writer from Brooklyn, NY who has been bringing her unique perspective on everything from pop culture to race and gender relations to audiences all over. Rae is a staff writer on Comedy Central’s The President Show and cohosts the podcast Misandry with Marcia and Rae. You can find Rae on Twitter @Raesanni.